


Tactile

by SrebrnaFH



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Hurt, Boys In Love, Kissing, M/M, Opposities, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: There are things that the angel doesn't tell his demon. There are things that the demon doesn't tell his angel.





	Tactile

Crowley doesn’t tell Aziraphale that his touch is still a bit Blessed. That every time his angel holds his hand, the demon feels it for minutes - sometimes hours - after. That every time he touches Crowley’s face - under the guise of removing a random blade of grass or a smudge of dirt - it leaves Crowley with the cold-blue fire dancing under his skin.

He doesn’t tell his angel how it pains him when their lips touch, because where would he go then? What would he be, if he was not allowed this?

He can be a little Blessed, if it means Aziraphale falling asleep with his head on Crowley’s shoulder, his blonde-white curls tickling Crowley’s skin, leaving invisible scorchmarks.

The spot in the middle of his forehead still smarts after his angel kissed it the evening before, saying ‘goodnight’ to the drowsy demon.

####

Aziraphale never tells Crowley that the demon’s skin still oozes the Damnation. It leaves marks - not ones a mortal eye would have perceived, but ones that hurt bone-deep sometimes. Aziraphale rubs along the place where Crowley had held his wrist - looking up at him with these yellow eyes - and pressed a kiss to his pulse point.

He would never say this aloud - he even makes sure to never show it - he yearns too much. He wants too much. That wanting - wanting of Crowley’s nearness - defines him now.

He can be slightly Damned - or even quite properly Damned - because that’s what he must pay for that nearness. That’s what he pays, gladly, every day, especially when his demon whispers things into his ear and his breath - and nearness of his lips - leave Aziraphale in pain for days later.

The knuckles of his hand sting a little in the exact spot where a half-asleep Crowley had pressed a grateful kiss the day before.

 


End file.
